All we're saying is that the proposition "Sherlock Homes lived at 221B Baker Street" corresponds to what Doyle wrote, for example (because that's what he imagined/what he chose to construct), for example. Why in the world would there be limitations like that on what something can correspond to? — Terrapin Station
Meinongianism isn't entirely off the table nowadays (oddly enough) but it's a bitter pill to swallow... — MindForged
Because "imagined" is usually understood as implying non-existence. — MindForged
Because "imagined" is usually understood as implying non-existence. So that statement would be rendered as "Why should we say that non-existent things do not exist?". The answer seems obvious enough.
You don't want to be in the situation where you agree to existentially quantify over something and say true things about it, but you maintain that it does not exist (e.g. There exists some x such that x is Sherlock Holmes and Holmes is etc etc.). I mean what you're saying sounds like Meinongianism and I'm assuming you don't endorse that. — MindForged
Yeah, obviously what people tend to have in mind with something like "God doesn't exist" is that he doesn't exist as anything other than a fiction. Folks aren't saying the fiction doesn't exist as a fiction. — Terrapin Station
Eh, this seems like a dubious claim about what people 'tend to have in mind'. A fiction is, colloquially, understood as something that doesn't exist. And as I don't happen to believe in God, I definitely don't think God exists and does so as a fiction. I would say God does not exist because the idea of God has no referent, it is not among the set of existing things. "Existing as a fiction" sounds like non-existing existent to my ears. There's certainly a collection of proposed attributes and actions written and believed to have been done by some being called God, but I wouldn't attributes any kind of existing to that hypothetical person. — MindForged
Pegasus is not defined as a fictional being, though we know it to be so because it does not exist. — MindForged
My imagination of Pegasus does not have wings, it doesn't exist in the first place. — MindForged
You're not making any sense — MindForged
And it's like a learning-disabled level confusion--maybe because we're playing a game where we're trying to create problems to solve because we're bored? (and we unfortunately do not want to tackle more challenging but practical problems like making sure that everyone has housing, health care, etc.)--to be confused whether we're talking about what we're imagining existing as something other than something we're imagining. — Terrapin Station
Perhaps if you read you'd notice I responded to the things you said, quoting or not. It's not hard to read. — MindForged
if you imagine Pegasus, whatever you imagine exists as something you imagine.
No one said what you imagine has to have wings. — Terrapin Station
That's a picture, what it represents doesn't exist. — MindForged
Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping the roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. "There's a unicorn in the garden," he said. "Eating roses." She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him.
"The unicorn is a mythical beast," she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; now he was browsing among the tulips. "Here, unicorn," said the man, and he pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife again. "The unicorn," he said,"ate a lily." His wife sat up in bed and looked at him coldly. "You are a booby," she said, "and I am going to have you put in the booby-hatch."
The man, who had never liked the words "booby" and "booby-hatch," and who liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. "We'll see about that," he said. He walked over to the door. "He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead," he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn; but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat down among the roses and went to sleep.
As soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat in her eye. She telephoned the police and she telephoned a psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait-jacket. When the police and the psychiatrist arrived they sat down in chairs and looked at her, with great interest.
"My husband," she said, "saw a unicorn this morning." The police looked at the psychiatrist and the psychiatrist looked at the police. "He told me it ate a lilly," she said. The psychiatrist looked at the police and the police looked at the psychiatrist. "He told me it had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead," she said. At a solemn signal from the psychiatrist, the police leaped from their chairs and seized the wife. They had a hard time subduing her, for she put up a terrific struggle, but they finally subdued her. Just as they got her into the strait-jacket, the husband came back into the house.
"Did you tell your wife you saw a unicorn?" asked the police. "Of course not," said the husband. "The unicorn is a mythical beast." "That's all I wanted to know," said the psychiatrist. "Take her away. I'm sorry, sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jaybird."
So they took her away, cursing and screaming, and shut her up in an institution. The husband lived happily ever after.
Moral: Don't count your boobies until they are hatched. — James Thurber
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